


Go Getter

by ectoasshole



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - No Sburb/Sgrub Sessions, Apartment AU, F/F, F/M, M/M, a slew of other characters, and pairings, some of them are in college too but ok i digress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-13
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-08 15:46:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1134498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ectoasshole/pseuds/ectoasshole
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Kankri wanted to do was be a good brother and move Karkat’s things into their new apartment – simple as that. Hours later dealing with a broken elevator and hellish flights of stairs, he was sweaty, irritable, and just wanted to pass out on whatever horizontal surface available. And then came this asshole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Go Getter

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing fanfiction in like three years, first time writing CronKri, and first time writing Homestuck. Let the adventure begin. Biiiiiig big big thanks to my beta Catsonfire and confusedminion for tossing ideas at me and putting up with me. 
> 
> This entire fic is the latter's fault for sending me a link to Go Getter Greg by Ludo and going "how can you not think of Cronus".

 

* * *

  
**Chapter One:** Of Boxes and Bad Romance

* * *

Moving was certainly not how one Kankri Vantas would have liked to spend his Friday afternoon. Completely necessary? Yes. Desirable whatsoever? No, not at all. His current (for the next two days until his lease was officially up) apartment was relatively cheap, sure, but he certainly got what he paid for. That included less than reliable water utilities, questionable wiring throughout the entirety of the building—he’d seen one too many bundles of exposed wires simply sealed up with duct tape after he’d complained to the landlord—and nosy neighbors who had no clue as to what being considerate of others entailed.

Of course, his situation was much better than a lot of other people’s. At least Kankri had the means to change his living situation if he so desired—and he certainly did.

The moment the end of his lease was on the horizon, he was out of there. Luckily, the timing coincided near perfectly with his younger brother starting his first year at University. Karkat had originally planned on staying in the dorms on campus like most freshman.

After being assigned a roommate near the end of July, Karkat got in contact with his roommate-to-be via facebook to figure out who would be bringing what to the dorm. Things had gone downhill from there and roughly three weeks later Karkat was outright refusing to room with “such a fucking asshole. You guys haven’t talked to him you have no idea about the various levels of utter and complete bullshit I would be dealing with. Empire State levels,” despite the rationale Kankri and their father tried to instill in him.

And that was how the Vantas brothers were to be roommates. He couldn’t speak for Karkat, but Kankri didn’t particularly mind—despite thinking his younger brother would be missing out on a vital part of the college experience—he was more than willing to help out. It certainly beat Karkat living with their father and taking an hour long bus ride to campus every day, especially when your apartment was a mere twenty minute speed walk away and plenty of buses ran through the area.

With any luck, the two of them wouldn’t be at each other’s throats. They got along well enough, but it’d also been nearly five years since they’d actually lived together—and even then their dad was around most of the time to put an end to any bickering that got out of hand.

At least now Karkat was no longer a mouthy preteen and Kankri liked to think he’d moved passed his days of being a holier than thou teenager with his ass glued to the saddle of an elevated horse, and on to someone at least a little more tolerable. Though Porrim claimed that he’d always been just fine as far as she was concerned, she did admit that conversations were less prone to induce conversations.

Casting a look over his shoulder to the car full of boxes, Kankri sighed and ran a hand through his hair, cringing at the dampness. The late August heat was relentless, especially after hauling boxes back and forth between his car and father’s house. The drive back to (civilization) the city allowed ample time to cool off, but he’d only been five minutes outside and was already sweating. He stood against the passenger side of his ’07 Camry, trying to figure out the best plan of attack that included minimum sweat stains and hopefully little to no injuries.

Kankri had gone through the same routine a few days ago while moving his own things from across town, but had the added benefit of Porrim’s help. Today she had plans with her beau of the week, however, and Karkat was busy at his freshman orientation, which wouldn’t be over until early evening, by which time Kankri hoped to be done. Their father expressed his regret and not being able to lend a hand, but was busy preparing for the upcoming school year starting in little over a week. Shaping young minds was important, after all, and he couldn’t be ill-prepared for that.

Heaving a sigh, he mustered the energy to push himself off the side of his car and turned to face the enemy—aka the numerous boxes shoved into his backseat and window, not to mention the broken down pieces of Karkat’s dresser and bed frame shoved into his trunk. Those would probably be the most difficult things to carry. If it came down to it he could always just wait for Karkat’s assistance with those particular items. Rolling up his sleeves, he opened the back door and set to work.

 

 

\-----

Two hours later found Kankri slumped over in his kitchen, panting lightly and covered in a thin layer of sweat. He pressed his face to the cool tile of the floor, pushing any acknowledgements of how filthy the floor probably was to the back of his mind (and making a mental note to steam clean tomorrow). In times of distress such as these he often made it a point to think of all the things he was grateful for and his privilege that afforded him to be in such a position.

A position currently face down on the kitchen floor but a position nevertheless. One filled with loathing for the boxes still remaining in his car, the several slights of stairs between him and the ground floor, and most importantly the goddamned broken elevator because that was just his luck. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself that a lot of people did not have enough to fill up the boxes, nor were they able to own a car or have a roof over their head. Try as he might to remind himself of all these things, the all-consuming loathing at the idea of moving an inch further remained at the front of his mind.

That didn’t change the fact that there were at least three more sizeable boxes that did not care one bit that Kankri was on the verge of collapsing—rather, had already moved far past that point—and it would be rude to just ignore them. With a groan that quickly morphed into something more akin to a whine, the man got to his feet. A moment to pout at the general vicinity of his kitchen and curse his tired body, and he was out the door heading back downstairs, moving in a way resembling a zombie shuffle more than an actual walk.

His only saving grace was that the lobby was more or less empty. What with people being busy with work and what not, he didn’t have to worry about being seen by neighbors who he had yet to meet. He wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression, and his messy dark hair, sweat, and surely less than pleasant smell after being in the heat and hauling boxes up and down the stairs.

Kankri made the trek from the car to the apartment for the umpteenth time, pausing at the door to try and shift the box to one side so he could open the door. The only thing that kept him from dropping the box flat on the ground were the big bold scribbles of ‘FRAGILE’ marked angrily on every side of the box and Karkat’s imminent rage if any harm was to come to the contents inside—whatever it was, it was heavy as hell.

Box pinned between his hip and the adjacent wall, Kankri fished through his pockets for his swipe card with every intent to charge up the stairs the moment he was inside, getting as far as possible before his brain caught up and sent signals to the rest of his body that roughly translated to “slow the fuck down.” As he patted down his back pockets the best he could, praying to whatever deity that might be massing through Oregon on a Friday afternoon that he hadn’t left his key in his apartment, his panic was interrupted by an arm reaching over his shoulder and sliding a shiny plastic rectangle through the key slot beside the door.

Torn between annoyed at the offending limb currently invading his personal space and relief that he wouldn’t be locked out of the building, Kankri turned to look at the man behind him. His eyes narrowed at said man when rather than pull back his arm after unlocking the door, he brought it to rest on the frame beside Kankri, smiling down at the shorter man around the unlit cigarette clenched between his teeth. Kankri stomped down the urge to cringe. He may be exhausted, sweaty, and filthy, but he still had manners.

“Need some help there, chief?” Some manners. He still had some manners. It wasn’t his fault that the man was getting just a bit too close for comfort and Kankri could smell not only the copious amounts of hair gel currently being utilized in his dark locks, but also the clove of his cigarette. It was all very unsettling.

“Pardon?” He quipped, trying his hardest to keep the desperation out of his voice because dear god he just wanted to get inside where there was air conditioning. Wasn’t the lock on the door timed? It had to have a thirty second limit at the very most, so why was this man standing around trying to shoot the breeze or whatever have you. It hardly seemed like a good use of time. Especially Kankri’s time. He had things to do that did not include some greased up hoodlum with no respect for boundaries.

“I saw you strugglin’ there when I pulled in,” the brunette said, nodding back toward the parking lot. “Thought you could use some help.”

Adjusting the box once more so it was properly situated in his hands, Kankri managed to smile politely at the man, because if he was anything Kankri was always polite. Even if his smile did resemble more of a grimace and he wanted nothing more than to dismiss the man before him and/or just flat out walk away.

On the other hand, that wasn’t such a bad idea.

It was really out of consideration for the other man—the door would surely lock again and Kankri wouldn’t want him to have to go through all the trouble of swiping his card again. Really, he was just being a Good Samaritan. With another quick glance to the lock, Kankri ducked under the stranger’s arm and pried the door open with his free hand until he could wedge a foot in and push it open all the way.

“Thank you for the offer but I assure you I am doing just fine—“ A small yelp escaped him as the box threatened to topple over—honestly what did Karkat have in this thing?—quickly readjusting his grip on the box and attempting to save face as he scurried inside the building. “—without your assistance.”

Of course it wouldn’t be that easy to get rid of him. Kankri nearly snapped when the brunette followed him inside before realizing that yes, it would make sense if he lived here as well considering he had a key. That would make very much sense. He was quick to blame his less than brilliant state on the hellish sun beating overhead and the boxes he’d been busting his ass carrying up the stairs. He simply could not be held responsible for it at this point.

“See look, babe, you’re strugglin’—“

“Firstly, you do not even know me so please don’t act so familiar,” Kankri snapped, stopping dead in his path to the stairs and shooting a scowl over his shoulder. “Secondly, I was given a name for a reason and it wasn’t so that I could be called ‘babe’ by some asshole I met—if it could even be called that—mere moments ago.”

“Cronus Ampora,” the man grinned. Kankri frowned.

“What?” “That’s my name—introductions and all that jazz, now we’ve properly met if it means so much t’ya.” When Kankri merely stared on (though he did deserve points for turning around to properly face the other, even if only half his face was visible from behind the box and he was trying his hardest—and failing—to not glare), he continued on. “Do I get a name? Unless you prefer babe and are just playing hard to get. I’m into that.”

Kankri wasn’t sure if it was the widened grin or waggling eyebrows but there were levels of anger and annoyance currently bubbling inside him that were better suited for his younger brother. Through gritted teeth he managed, “Kankri Vantas,” before heading back toward the stairwell and starting toward the fifth floor. He’d given his name and been fucking civil, that was all that could be asked of him. It would pass as polite for now.

“So, Kankri, you must be new.”

“No.” It wasn’t a lie, really. Time was relative and he’d moved in a few days ago. So really, he wasn’t that new.

“At least you’re new to me.” Kankri grunted a sound of acknowledgement as he started the second flight of stairs, hoping that Cronus would live on a floor below him so he could have peace. Climbing these hellish stacked prisms was hard enough without the added burden of tolerating conversation when all he wanted to do was be left alone to lay on his couch. Cronus wasn’t even that terrible. Kankri had certainly dealt with worse in his twenty odd years of life, he’d merely been caught at a particularly bad time.

“Still moving in, though? Yeah, that can be a bitch. You know it’d go a lot faster with two people. Seemed like you still had a lot of stuff in your car.”

“Were you watching me?” Kankri scoffed.

“Like I said I saw you when I was pulling in—“

“That must have taken a while.”

“I like to make it last.”

“Excu—“ More than simply appalled, more than annoyed but fucking irate by this point, more than a little caught off guard, one Kankri Vantas nearly gave himself whiplash in his attempt to show Cronus just how unpleasant he was. Kankri fully intended to let him have the full brunt of his glare and a very verbose and colorful explanation on how such things were simply not okay, but in the heat of the moment one Kankri Vantas also forgot that things such as stairs required coordination. When a certain level of coordination was not met, or one just didn’t pay attention because they were too busy preparing to tell off a certain beef-headed man who would not leave them alone, the predictable thing happened.

In an act of grace only attainable by the elite, one Kankri Vantas’ sneaker caught on the edge of the top step, not only sending his box flying out of his hands, but also leaving him sprawled face down on the landing.

A sharp “Shit!” sounded from a few steps behind him, followed by a hand wrapping around his bicep as another went to his back. He remained a useless lump of weight for a few dazed moments before realizing that yes, he had just tripped, and yes, Cronus was trying to help him up. With Cronus’ help, Kankri managed to return safely to his feet with minimal damage, if his injured pride and burning cheeks were to be ignored.

“You okay?” Cronus asked as he did a quick once over the shorter man for any visible bruises or bleeding.

“Fine, thank you,” Kankri said, even more eager to return to the confines of his apartment and escape his current embarrassment. A glance to the box he had been carrying shut down any hopes of a quick escape—the contents now strewn about the landing before them. At least he knew why it was so heavy now. What was most likely the majority, if not all, of Karkat’s novel collection littered the ground. That explained why it had been so heavy.

With a groan that quickly deteriorated into a defeated sigh, Kankri retrieved the box from near the exit to floor three where it had landed and sunk to his knees. As he started tossing books back in with less care than he probably should have exercised with his younger brother’s most prized possessions, he remembered why exactly he didn’t discuss literature with Karkat despite one of their few similarities being their large collection of texts.

Karkat hoarded harlequin novels and other trashy romance books. Not that Kankri shamed his younger brother for it, or anyone who chose to indulge in such prose, but just—why? He’d attempted to get into them so they would have some common ground to discuss, but could hardly make it a chapter without wanting to burn the thing.

Cronus, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.

“This is some interstin’ literature ya got here, chief.”

Dread settled in the pit of Kankri’s stomach before he even looked up, but the moment his gaze landed on _Fifty Shades of Grey_ gripped in ivory hands, the dread morphed into something all-consuming and that waved his flag of defeat to whatever cruel being was playing with his life today. He was so done with today.

Cronus flipped through the book, grin seeming to grow more sinister with each chunk of pages before he finally stopped. Kankri didn’t dare release a breath of relief quite yet, and it was a good thing, too, because then—“ _"Look at me," he breathes, and I stare up into his smoldering grey gaze. It is his Dom gaze - cold, hard and sexy as hell, seven shades of sin in one enticing look_."

Kankri could only stare blankly at the book and then Cronus, regretting the latter when the he met the brunette’s _grey fucking gaze_ —of course, of fucking _course_. His grin was still plastered on his face, now more suggestive than anything with the added raised eyebrow. Before Cronus could get so much as a word in edgewise Kankri was tossing whatever books within his reach and tossing them into the box before booking it up the stairs, moving with the most fervor he'd had since high school gym class.

So fucking done.


End file.
